I remember the first day I moved into residence. A bunch of energetic frosh leaders took my things and moved them into my room. Upon entering my room, I was shocked at how small it was. The lighting seemed too dim, the floor too brown, and the wood furniture too chipped. The frosh leaders’ saying “wow, this is such a nice room” did not help alleviate my feeling of doom.
For one year, I was going to be trapped in this box-like room.
Now flash forward eight months later. I’m still in my room and there are boxes. Except this time, it’s because I’m moving out.
Having graduated from high school last year, saying goodbye was the hardest. To those dear friends you’ve created so many good memories with, how do you part? This year, although I’m living with the expectation of seeing them again next year, the fact that we won’t be gathered here, “slumming” it out together in the collective experience that is res life, is sad. Sure, you might bump into them occasionally at Sid Smith or Robarts, but there won’t be any late night food trips or dropping in randomly to watch movies together. Residence is a perfect place to do devious things to your friends, such as taking a dustpan, pour milk onto it, and slip it underneath your friend’s door (not talking from personal experience…maybe). Instead, you’ll have to specially schedule ahead to meet up, unless you take a trip to visit your friend’s house in your PJs uninvited.
The boxes, the torn down posters, and the bareness of the room establishes that this was never really my home, but a temporary stay in my four year trip.
So with that nostalgic-ness aside, I’ll say:
Goodbye, residence. Goodbye, first year. Next year will be better.